


Celebration

by orphan_account



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, Long-Term Relationship(s), Lovers to Friends, Marriage, Multi, Music, Shopping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5805463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kimi is getting married and everybody is supposed to be helping out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saccharinely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went crazy when, during the composition of this, Candyman by Christina Aguilera popped into my mind

"Pretty sure when Kimi said: “Go to the kitchen” he meant to _help_ , not to _eat_ ”, said Jenson, cracking a generous smile, chef apparels ready to get dirty in its purest form. Thirty centiments of a white hat, ¾ pale sleeves. Everything matching, fresh from laundry.

A hungry Seb dressed in jeans and white shirt has a different desert for each hand, slurping the vanilla flavor from a cone while biting some bitter chocolate. Mouthing with a childish desire, he stops for a minute to partially swallow and pronounce an “yes, you’re right”, followed by a almost incomprehensive “let’s bake”.

Holding a icebox door, the older is irresistibly laughing, the main reason being the messy baby-faced guy. “There is chocolate all over your teeth".

Embarassed over a single comment, Seb bends the head, patiently sweeping left and right the tongue. Once finished, he’s flashing incisors along with pre molars, seeking for approbation. “Better?”

Taking a quick view, a Brit is precisely answering how much better it looks.

“So…” Sebastian initially elaborates, arms crossed in front of chest. “Where do we start?” 

“By the basics”, Jense replies, nudging the short German. “Seeing if all the ingredients are on best before date”.

Carefully reading the labels, apparently there is condensed milk, chocolate, sprinkles, good for consumers. This is until the Briton smells something suspicious.

“Ah”, Jenson grimaces, “Check it for me, please”, worrying over the industrialized candy “It is smelling strange”.

Innocently increasing his proximity of the package, Seb sniffs to confirm. It’s the perfect time to spray whipped cream on a distracted face.

Sebastian is stepping away, as he hears evil laughs coming from Jens. Realizing he felt into the silliest prank existent, he clearly yells “I knew it, I’m gonna get you!”, vocally threatening to chase the other driver until get the payback. 

Removing fluffy texture from the long eyelashes, he is walking towards Jenson, groping the table for something safe to throw at him. Still with blurred view, he seriously slips, probably in some leftover. 

In a matter of milliseconds, Jenson rapidly proceeds, saving him to hit the floor. Sebby stumbles one more time, now stepping where it’s clean. Still frightened by the almost fall, he finally is able to watch the mesmerizing blue eyes. 

“Here, let me fix this mess”, Jense affirms, lovely tasting a bit dripping from Sebastian’s lips, but with his slightly chapped ones. Dipping the long fingers around the brief waist, he wouldn’t stop, only when a sweet sigh left the German’s lungs.

Instinct got the best of them, lowering eyelids. Felt like a sweet eternity whenever the Englishman playfully pecked on his tiny upper lip, delightfully sucking, swerving. Ah, that got the younger whining louder than expected.

Sneering, Sebastian points out if they can go back... to baking. Meeting the twinkling iris, Jenson nods in agreement, too happy to catch Seb giving a nasty gaze to a cup of flour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments!


	2. "Mr. Felipe!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the hits, cuddles (I thought about cuddles meaning "kudos"), just thank you <3

Oh, no. Not again.

Despite the "practically-a-palace" dimensions, the location seemed to be well connected. Like a big factory, a chorus eminently wondered, slowing down their respective tasks. When will they learn?

“Which one?” Sebastian languidly is hanging out the door, with smutty kiss-bruised lips.

Looking above, the postman believed to clarify through another sentence. “The...the brazilian one”, he reluctantly replied, scratching his chin.

Too amused to insist in the face of the 2015’s dilemma, Seb confusedly backs up, locking the place.

Another yell comes from a diverging direction, “But… Both are brazilian!". He picks up the paper to give a read, chewing his cheek. “Felipe… Masr”.

Someone shouted from the pool: “Please take off the potato before talking the second name!”

“Ok, fine”, the mailman states, frowning the shoulders. He hasn't watched races in ages! The one dressed in vivid red… probably not. That short, straight haired… must be a mistake.

An unidentified voice tranquilized with a “Be cool, we have the whole day!”

“We haven't!”, a authoritative sound echoed, making the worker think it could be his significant other.

The first voice apologizes, “Ok, sorry!”

Bingo. Recalling a television trait, his face gains new colors, raising the pair of eyebrows, waving the box.

“Mr. That Rob one!”

The response given become loud, practically unison. “Awwwwwww!”

“It’s Massa”, Daniel takes the responsibility, “You can put here. Nice to meet you, I’m Dan.”

“Where is he?”

“Coincidentally”, he naturally giggles, tapping the professional on the back, “He is with Smedley somewhere”.

“Ok, so I just need you to sign here, here… and in my cap, please”, the man turns faster than a bullet to humorously convince the aussie, excitement filling his veins.

Not in his best dreams the employee imagined such a funny happening. The other packages/letters could wait, he was about to leave, but not without lots of signings and selfies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Correction: I love anything you feel like authentically doing


	3. Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love some aussie/russian sauce?

Ric’s laugh could be heard from miles away. He pushed back the black earphones, to continue the mix. "It's the perfect jam”, he proudly claimed, dragging up a button to adjust the bassline, “I swear, I use the edited one".

"You must be kidding" Daniil rolls eyes, pretending to be disappointed, proofing a previous point: not necessarily two great people had similarities musically.

The discussion considered how appropriate might be Kimi's entrance at the church while I Get Money by 50 Cent played in the background, at least the instrumental.

In Dan’s mind, perfect. Suited notably better inside a serious well tailored suit. More than perfect, actually, remains Kyvat’s expressions to such an innovative suggestion, nonetheless a direct provocation to his awesome taste.

“Come here”, Daniel grinned, dissolving the previous joke. “Let’s stay with the classics”.

He first explained the plan, anxiously tapping the DJ table. “I called a violinist, the idea is to have him playing the wedding march”. Tacting the pockets, Dan is searching for a very specific thing to continue, “Can’t find my pen drive, did you see it?”.

The russian is hilariously shocked. “A pen drive?”, he makes fun of the obsolete technology, “Where are you, in 2009?”.

Daniel tried to have the last laugh, returning. “Where was you in the U.S GP? Dancing a older thing”. Feeling the sides of the newest pockets, he suspects, “Now, c’mon. You seems to know where it is”. Taking him higher, Ricciardo takes advantage in being stronger, taller and older.

Putting Kyv’s ankles onto the left shoulder, he agitates the smaller body. The intent was to make the flash drive fall on the ground. No success, getting worse when he tickled with his free hand.

“I saved the content it in a Dropbox account, so you can have the whole thing”, he openly yells out. “Now, stop shaking me like that!”

Lying down the team partner, both are crying of laughter. “What is the username?”

“Danlovesdan, all together”, he prettily blushes. Seizing the opportunity of visualize even redder cheeks, he adorably points out.

"The password must be “i’m modest”, I swear”.

Logging on, from Mendelssohn to Mr. Cheeks, from Wuthering Heights to Fifty Shades, everything categorized by artists, CD’s and in year order. That surely would be legendary, but no sound resonated better than a happy playmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own any song, book or app I mention here!


	4. "I would trade you for Louis V, really quick"

It can be easy shopping, when you match the consumption requirements. Limitless cards, a chauffeur carrying dozens of bags, giant closets, enormous heels for the ladies.

Nico acknowledges his metrosexual fame, being no surprise when Kimister solicited special assistance. He accepted how smart for those subjects people tend to find him.

Extremely familiar with Lewis, shamelessly he started to exhibit the clothing knowledge, acquired during paddock walks, events, fashion moguls. Requiring attention at the first store, Nico, with a considerable force, pokes at Hamilton’s elbow, too busy with #teamLH tweets. “Look.”

“Look”, beckoning next to him, he checks again if Lew is truly focusing. “Since Minttu tends to be really petit, this one”, pointing a backless, v-neck mermaid dress. “This one, it’s what she described, I’ll take a photo”.

While Nico R. provides the visuals for the beautiful engaged woman, Hamilton interestingly interacts, hand in a continuous movement asking back for his mobile.

Kicking enough Rosberg’s leg to call the shots but not hurt, he shares another discovery. “Her friend can wear this dress”.  
  
Reprimanding the British star, Nico facepalmes his fine face. “Bridesmaids can’t wear black”. All these years and couldn’t he remember a basic tradition? Unforgivable.

Snobbish, he beautifully denied the devolution. “No phone until we have clothes for everyone”.

And so they did.

Shoes, socks, ties, bow ties, the stylist's number in charge of doing her important piece for the big day... The shopping afternoon looked like a surrealist picture, before nobody less than Nicole Scherzinger enters the same damn store, a single paparazzi stuck outside flashing his artificial light everywhere.

Looking beyond amazing, rocking a double C bag, Nic makes the German thinks he is just a lost part of her galaxy, around that buzz.

Both aren't seen by the superstar, however the simple fact of seeing the ex, makes Nico wanting to hit "next" for another boutique.

“Nicole is here”, Rosberg announces, finding inexistent ways to not sounding so frustrated during her stellar presence. The were having so much fun alone!

Not even considering the previous affirmation, Lewis replied “good”, attempting to pick up a convenient tie with the salesgirl. “I don’t care”.

For the first time in years, he _meant it_.

In the very next second the employee left the scene, the three times WDC quickly pushes the team partner inside the same dressing room, hotly feeling the curves, leaving the fashion badass speechless.

“Wow”, he astonishingly assumes, assuming rosé shades. “Here are Jenson’s measures. He asked the same things as Seb, I think they combined”.

Laughing at the paper, Lewis gave a new approach to the observation.

“I thought he said you were the prettiest one”, Lewis tenderly received Nico’s tiny body between his generous hands. Slightly full of himself with the compliment, Ros’s structure language tells all.

Fondling the back of Ham’s neck, he revealed the background of that infamous history. “He said this to see someone jealous”.

Checking left then the right side, Lewis charmingly pretends he doesn’t understand the indirect.

“I don’t see that someone”.

 


End file.
